


your (bloodshot) wish

by FixerRefutation



Series: Ouma Kokichi's Theory of 'Happiness.' [12]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Atua - Freeform, Fluff, GASP, Gen, but not, change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 05:34:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17760776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FixerRefutation/pseuds/FixerRefutation
Summary: “This is what we can do together..?” She looked up at the paint-stained canvas, to the paint stains on her hands, to the paintbrush locked tightly in between her fingers.“Is this not what you want?”“No,” She breathes, watching the hands she always thought to be so useless become hands made to breathe life into the people, and into her, He breathed life.“It’s exactly what I want.”





	your (bloodshot) wish

**Author's Note:**

> hewwo its been ye ars but ANGIES HERE AND THIS IS GETTING BACK ON TRACK YAY

Atua? Atua. Atua!

 

Such was the name of the faceless god of Angie’s thoughtless thoughts. Thoughtless thoughts, as it were, had thoughts in them, residing logic, thoughtless logic, mindful logic, in the mind of Angie. Under the sea, above and on it, her world resided, a bountiful paradise with deliveries from the faceless god himself, on the baseless thoughts she had.

 Angie, before and back then, was a baseless girl. A baseless girl with a baseless life, with a baseless home and living through baseless nights. Skin chocolate brown and hair bleached white.

 

Aimless nights, aimless days, living life as a dream.

 

Angie could not miss it at all.

 

The stroke of her first experimental brush on the canvas was a step of yellow-hued splash into her own world, vibrantly glittering with the faintly incongruous smell of drying paint. She lost herself in the rhythm of the strokes, using desperately every colour, watching her little world sparkle and gleam in the suddenly beautiful strokes of her life.

When she came to, the yellow-orange-white of the sun was sinking into the haze of blue-orange-pink-indigo-purple sky, staring up at an endless canvas that was suddenly her world.

 

Her painting.

 

_You are Angie. You are a prophet. Save them._

 

"...Me? I couldn't possibly be.."

 

_You are Angie. You are a prophet. Save them._

 

The countenance of a person she thought up, a toneless voice with the sound of a faceless god who had hijacked His way into her systems and gave her the glow to light up her life. As if he were saying, ‘This is what we could do together.’

 

“This is..really..what we can do together..?” She looked up at the paint-stained canvas, to the paint stains on her hands, to the paintbrush locked tightly in between her fingers.

 

_“Is this not what you want?”_

 

“No,” She breathes, watching the hands she always thought to be so useless become hands made to breathe life into the people, and into her, he breathed life.

 

“It’s exactly what I want.”

 

-

 

It was nighttime when Ouma picked his way into the Ultimate Artist’s lab. Technically, he wasn’t supposed to go out at night, according to Angie’s lackeys, but he likes to go out of his way to break rules, anyway.

Plus, he had an urge to carry out a prank that he’d been developing for a while, and now that Angie’s brainwashed half the class, might as well carry it out. He knew Angie had probably made those wax effigies by now, so why don’t those get a little makeover too?

Of course, if the Necronomicon was to be believed, Amami-chan could be brought back, so he’d try to avoid vandalizing that effigy. The others were free game, of course. The worst of it’s probably going to mom-chan, he thinks bitterly.

Strangely enough, when he inserted the bobby pin he’d stuck in his hair into the lock, the door didn’t make that satisfying click that never failed to sound. He frowns and tries again, and still the door isn’t clicking.

 

His heart dropped to his shoes.

 

He turned the knob experimentally. It creaked open, and any hope that a murder plan wasn’t going to be carried out was drowned out as he witnessed Angie’s unmoving body.

 

-

 

Angie couldn’t help but feel her heart sink at the thought of her new friends not believing in Atua. She couldn’t help but see the cripplingly dark navy-violet colors that surrounded the detective, the painted green-blues of the astronaut.

You can help them, he’d say.

How? she’d ask.

Be what they want, not who they are.

Angie’s mind spun with His guidance.

 

Keep them feeling happy.

 

And when light filtered through the window and her hands were dancing to create, Angie truly believed everything could be different.

 

-

 

Crap.

 

Crap.

 

“Shit, shit,” he muttered, checking for her pulse, and barely managing to pick her up. Clearly, the culprit who was going to off her was going to come back, and he had to move as fast as possible.

His legs wobbled, unused to the new weight. Luckily enough, she was lighter than him, making it only slightly easier to move. He staggered to the door.

 Distant, heavy footsteps slowly grew louder. The culprit obviously was in no hurry, thanks to Angie’s lackeys making it impossible to go outside at night. 

Crap. He creaked open the door just enough for the both of them to slip through and shut it. Stumbling as fast as he could, away away away from the person that probably had a weapon or something equally terrifying-

He turned the corner, and continued walking, attempting to make his steps as light as possible. What..what had happened to Angie to make her like this?

 

-

 

Everyone who died would merely be unfortunate souls with the chance to finally see her beloved, her god, in his full glory.

 

-

 

He stumbled again and decided to take a break (re: collapse) in some empty room. He knows that the person that attempted to murder Angie (he swallows to keep the bile in his throat from rising) was going to notice that Angie was gone, and think she was in the nearest room or collapsed in the hallways.

The footsteps, now that he has the time to identify them, are heavy. They seem to be rhythmic and collected. Not Kaito, no. Kaito has a random pattern to his footsteps, and he’s never calm in a place that’s haunted.

 

Unless that’s a lie.

 

Not Kiibo. The robot doesn’t seem like the type to kill anybody, and his footsteps are more clunky than human-like. Plus, he would be way too obvious and was probably the Mastermind’s playtoy.

 

_Why is a robot here in the first place?_

 

Shuichi’s steps ranged between light and normal, and the detective took extra, nervous steps. Not calm, even steps like these.

 

And Rantaro is dead, so not him.

 

The final one would be... Shinguuji.

 

He was always _suuuper_ creepy, anyway.

 

His heart beats fast as he repeatedly, quietly slaps Angie, attempting to shake her awake. Unfortunately, her head is in the middle of bleeding, and she’s ascended sleeping to unconsciousness. He pales as he realizes.

_Angie’s blood could be leading the culprit to us right now._

 

-

 

Wholeheartedly, dearly, Angie held Him close to her heart and forever in her mind.

 

-

 

He had to go. Now. A treacherous part of him wants to leave her behind, but he slings her over his shoulders anyway, feeling detached from his body.

 

This wasn’t supposed to happen. He just wanted to play a little prank.

 __  
And now you're carrying an unconscious girl over your shoulders as the creep tracks you down.  
  


Blood drips on his back. It turns his scarf pink, bleeds his hair red. “N-not dying here, no no no..” Shinguji knows by now. His steps have turned slightly faster as he turns the corner Ouma just left.

Ouma runs as fast as he can, to the stairs. Crapcrapcrapcrapcrap- Shinguji probably expects Angie to run for the stairs by now, and Ouma’s body weeps from overexertion. Doesn’t matter. He’d take the pain in his legs over dying any day.

 

For once, he hopes somebody, anybody is there, and like a goddamn blessing, Himiko Yumeno shows up.

 

Of course, she gets to the wrong conclusion. “Wha-Ouma, let go of Angie right now!” She commands, pointing at him. Shinguji’s heard, Shinguji knows, Shinguji knows, and he’s coming, he’s coming-

-

 

Angie made herself a target. Finally, finally, Angie made herself the target. Protected by God, she knew she wouldn’t die as long as the focus were on her. Followers of the god who gave them everything she gave gentle acknowledgment to.

Her god gave her everything, and so He could give them everything as well.

 

-

 

He grabs Himiko’s hand and makes a break for it.

 

“Eeeeehhh?” Himiko’s blushing, for some reason, and he could really care less as he sees Shinguji in the corner of his eye, the tall classmate’s eyes narrowing at the sight of Angie. Something sharp glints behind him.

 

He runs faster. The way outside was so close, so close-

 

Shinguji catches up to them.

 

Damnit. He watches as Himiko finally manages to catch on, her eyes opening wide-

 

She chucks confetti and cards at his face.

 

That’s..one way to make a distraction. They run for it, outside, and Himiko, this time, guides the way to the dorms.

Kokichi is panting from carrying Angie so far. His legs are threatening to buckle beneath him, and his arms are weak, too damn weak. He barely registers Himiko leading him and the artist to a dorm room.

She helps him take Angie to her bed. Himiko backs up, shaken but still attempting to act normal.  “I-I’ll go get the..the others.” She closes the door and locks it with her room key. Kokichi takes a moment to rest, then as soon as he thinks he can walk without his legs burning, he stumbles into the bathroom and takes a small, spare cloth, washing it over with water.

He sits on the bed next to Angie’s blissfully calm body and wipes at the blood staining her white hair. When all is said and done, he tries to slap her awake.

 

“Angie. Angie. Annngggieeee. Annnnggggiieeeeeee.”

 

-

 

When all was said and done, Angie would be fine.

 

-

 

He leans down to her ear as if to whisper something.

“ATUA SUCKS!”

 

Her eyes fly open, and she whips her head up, outwardly showing no signs of pain from the sheer offense she heard.

 

“Bitch you say what?”

 

He very nearly chokes of laughter. God, priceless. She stares at him with an unreadable gaze before discreetly grasping her head, strands of white stained pink dripping through chocolate fingers. He stops laughing immediately.

  


“Ah, right,” He starts as nonchalantly as he could, attempting to avoid her panic. Maybe he should..break it to her easily and slowly. “You may or may not have almost been murdered, too.”

 

Nailed it.

 

Angie doesn’t panic as he expects her to, she just nods in acceptance, all smiles. “Atua will and has protected me then, Ouma-kun, to have you here!” She engulfs him into the warmest of hugs. “Atua thanks you dearly.”

 

“..Stop using Atua as an excuse for what you do.” There’s a shadow over his eyes. Was she just _that_ stupid or what? “ _I_ was the one who saved you, Angie, not Atua. I saved you, and I could’ve died.“ He pulls back and shows off a vicious grin. “...Maybe I should’ve let you die, and you could quit the Atua crap for _once.”_

 

Angie is quiet as she is pushed away.

 

-

 

Had she always been living in the past?

 

-

 

“Ahhh, but Ouma-kun, I’m only following in your footsteps.”  


“..What?”  
  
“Those lies of yours… truly do entertain Atua!” She clasps her hands over his cheerfully. She smiles. “...And Angie hopes you can fulfill her purpose should she die.”  


_Keep them feeling happy._

 

Kokichi’s expression shows he understands, but it sours almost immediately as he pulls his hands away and wipes them on his uniform. “Ewwww, your hands are all painty.”

 

“Awww, Angie thinks Kokichi’s hands need some color!” His skin is all pale, like an empty canvas.

 

He sticks out a tongue at her, now wiping his hands on the sheets. “Only a weirdo like Angie-chan would think so!” He scrunches up his face and blows a raspberry at her, and she retaliates just as quick.

For now, maybe they could just pretend that everything was alright.

 

-

  
She closes her eyes.

 

-

 

And wakes up the next morning.

**Author's Note:**

> this was actually a draft but I rewrote most of it adhkxnbm, 
> 
> ...how was it?


End file.
